How can it hurt you when it looks so good?
by REMUS IS DODGY
Summary: Clarice is on a new case, and trying to forget Hannibal, even though she secretly longs for him; Hannibal is back in the states and is hungry for Clarice (I'm not good at summeries...just R&R please!)
1. Default Chapter

**Author's Note: **Aha! So here is a little tale about a sexy FBI agent and a sexy madman. I started writing this in Math class during one particularly boring lecture and now it has turned into a major hobby. Hope you enjoy!

**DISCLAIMER:** Hannibal and Clarice (and all the other characters) are not mine...they are Thomas Harris's. But if all goes as planned, come Monday morning...MUHAHAHAHAHA

Clarice slumped down into the chair in her office in the basement of the Human Behavioral Sciences building. Sighing, she picked up and shuffled through another folder of endless papers, each one more ridiculous than the last. She had been looking at leads to Dr. Hannibal the "Cannibal" Lecter for over three hours. Dropping the folder onto the desk, Clarice stood up. She walked over to the wall that was covered with various pictures of the doctor and his victims. Clarice stroked the picture that was her favorite one, if you could call it that. It was a black and white close-up of Dr. Lecter smiling deviously into the camera.

"Where are you, Doctor?" Clarice said softly.

"Making any progress?" a deep voice said behind her. Clarice yelped and spun around quickly. Jack Crawford was standing in the doorway of the basement.

"Mr. Crawford! You scared me!" Clarice gasped, clutching at her heart.

"I apologize for giving you such a fright," Crawford laughed. "I was just leaving and noticed that the light was still on down here. So I thought I ought to come down here and see how you are doing."

"I'm afraid I'm not having much luck." Clarice sighed, walking over to the desk and picking up a fat stack of folders, rubber banded together. "I've checked out these leads. All fake."

"Yes, I figured we were going to have a lot of them." Crawford said, taking the folders from Clarice. "Why don't you go home for the night? You've been working hard."

"Thank you, Mr. Crawford."

"Do you want me to wait and walk to your car with you?"

"No thanks," Clarice said, "I think I can handle it."

"Alright," Crawford said, adjusting the stack of folders. "I'll see you in the morning. Remember our meeting with Paul Krendler at eight."

"Of course, sir. Good night."

"Good night."

Clarice riffled through some papers for a few more minutes before she decided to really go home. She wasn't making any more progress tonight and she was exhausted. She grabbed her jacket and switched off the lights. Locking the door behind her, Clarice finally let her mind wander from her work.

Clarice walked through the myriad of hallways, passing now empty offices. She crossed the dim lobby, saying goodnight to Rob, the night watchman.

Clarice fumbled through her purse for her car keys as she walked towards her car. She pulled them out and nervously jangled them back and forth as she ventured across the dark parking lot. Reaching out to unlock her car, she became more anxious, suddenly feeling as though someone was watching her. She unlocked the door and quickly got in, re-locking the door. She sat there quiet for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to calm her nerves. Starting the car, Clarice drove out of the parking lot, headed for another long night alone.


	2. Chapter Two

Clarice flopped down on her couch. She picked up the remote and flipped on the T.V. She sighed as she changed the channels over and over and over again. Muting the set, Clarice stared thoughtlessly at the pictures flashing on the screen. She jumped as a sudden clap of thunder broke the silence.

"I'm getting jumpier everyday!" She laughed to herself. She got up and went into the kitchen. "A cup of hot coca would sure be nice," Clarice murmured, searching through the cupboards.

Clarice pulled the canister of hot coca out and set it on the counter. She turned and opened another cupboard to get her favorite mug, a fat black one with a giant yellow smiley on it. As she went to set it on the counter, Clarice glanced down into the mug. She found the hundreds of eyes of a giant black spider staring back at her. Clarice screamed and dropped the mug. It shattered into a million pieces and the spider ran under the stove to hide.

"Shit," Clarice muttered as she stared at the shattered fragments on the floor. She got a garbage sack and began to pick up the pieces of the broken mug. As she picked up the last piece of shattered glass, Clarice winced as she accidentally cut the tip of her thumb. Deep red blood oozed from the cut and dropped onto the linoleum floor.

Clarice sighed and walked down the hall to the ballroom. She opened the mirror and got out a band aid. She carefully rinsed her thumb off and bandaged it up. As a reflection was caught in the mirror, Clarice froze. She spun around and stared at the dark, empty hallway. She could have sworn there was a man standing there watching her.

Shaking her head at her silliness, Clarice decided to just go to bed. Turning off the light in the bathroom, she stood in the pitch black of the hallway. She could hear the rain pounding on the roof. She carefully navigated her way to her bedroom in the dark. Pausing outside the door, Clarice swore she could smell candles burning.

"Clarice, get a grip! There's no one here but you and that damn spider." Clarice said aloud to herself, reassured by the sound of her own voice.

She swung the door open and stopped short. Her room was softly lit with dozens of white candles. The bed was freshly made up with new silk white sheets and a fluffy goose down comforter, all of which Clarice had never seen before. Atop the bed were strewn dark red rose petals.

Carefully walking over to the bed and growing more apprehensive with each step, Clarice noticed the envelope sitting on her pillow.

Her fears were confirmed when she recognized the beautiful handwriting. She carefully picked it up and sat down on the bed. Slitting the envelope open carefully, she pulled out the heavy parchment that was in it and read:

_Dear Clarice,_

_I've been watching you, Clarice. You haven't changed much since I last saw you ten years ago in the Dungeon. I must say I do like your hair long. Have you saved much money from minimizing your visits to Fantastic Sam's?_

_I am back in the country and enjoying myself considerably. The slum of middle-class America has changed and I am residing in a tolerable home. The previous occupant was quite a tasteful decorator, though he was a bit dry for my liking._

_Hopefully you haven't run to Crawford, like a little child runs to the parent to tattle, with this letter. I would be quite disappointed. _

_Your old pal,_

_Hannibal Lecter, M.D._

After she finished, Clarice dropped the letter on her bed and sat there numbly. She wasn't quite what to do or think. What did Lecter want with her?

Clarice's head jerked up. Her eyes flashed to the door. She saw a flicker of movement. She quickly stood and ran to the bedroom door, swinging it the rest of the way open, causing the candle flames to dance wildly in the sudden breeze. Clarice heard the front door snap shut. She ran down the hallway and out the door.

As soon as she stepped outside, Clarice was soaked through to the bone for the pouring rain.

"Where are you?!" Clarice screamed, searching frantically around her small yard. "What do you want?!" She stood helplessly in the middle of the grass, letting the tears run freely down her face along with the raindrops.

Clarice turned and walked back into her house. She shuffled into the dark living room and fell onto the couch. Hugging a couch pillow, Clarice fell into a restless sleep, still in her rain soaked clothes.


	3. Chapter Three

Clarice awoke with a start. She was lying on the couch, but she was now covered with a soft blanket. She flung it off and sat up stiffly. She padded into the kitchen, but stopped short when she saw the counter. On it sat a cup of hot, steaming coffee, a bowl of fresh berries, and a single magnolia in a vase.

Leaning against the vase was another stiff envelope addressed to her. Clarice picked it up and took the letter that was in it out. She carefully unfolded it and read the short note, hand trembling:

_My Clarice,_

_I do hope the flower pleases you. I was looking forward to you sleeping in your new bedding. But after "playing" in the rain, you fell asleep on the couch. So please, keep the blanket there for future use._

_I apologize for not staying last night. Maybe another time I will allow you to see and talk to me. Would that make you happy? Yes, I'm sure it would._

_Tata,_

_H._

Clarice put the note back into the envelope. She stared at the cup of coffee for a moment before picking it up and taking a sip. She savored for a moment the sweet vanilla taste. Popping a tangy raspberry into her mouth, Clarice absentmindedly glanced at the clock.

"Shit!" she yelled. It was 8:45 A.M. She was late for her 8:00 A.M. meeting with Crawford and Krendler.

Clarice ran back into her room and flung the closet open. She pulled out a short dark navy skirt and a white silky blouse. Tossing them onto the bed, Clarice faltered for a moment at the sight of all the melted white candles.

"Come on, Starling. Don't think about that right now," she scolded herself. She pulled off her wrinkled shirt and sweatpants and paused, staring at herself in the mirror on the back of her door. She sighed in disgust at her ivory skin and smooth curves, accented perfectly by her lacy black lingerie. Clarice grabbed the skirt off the bed and yanked it on roughly. She slipped on the blouse and buttoned it up, tucking it into the skirt. Grabbing a pair of black, high-heeled sandals, Clarice sat on the bed to put them on. She abruptly stood up again. She had sat on something. Whipping the comforter back, Clarice gasped. Lying on the sheets was a diamond necklace and matching earrings.

Clarice slowly picked up the delicate necklace. It was simply a string of elegantly-cut diamonds, but she could tell it must have cost a fortune. Clarice had never been the one to wear jewelry, but she carefully put it on and admired the sparkling jewels in the mirror. It was beautiful. She then proceeded to put on the earrings, which sparkled at her ears.

Slipping on her sandals and running a brush through her hair finished Clarice's outfit. She didn't look in the mirror as she brushed her teeth and sprayed on a little perfume.

Clarice carefully locked her front door and walked down the front steps, the cold morning air stinging her bare legs. She unlocked the door to her 1989 Mustang, eyeing with concern the early stages of rust that were beginning to show. Starting the engine, Clarice winced at the whining that accompanied it.

"Please, oh please, just let me get to work," Clarice groaned, backing out of the driveway.


	4. Chapter Four

Walking briskly down the halls of the Human Behavioral building, Clarice glanced at her watch. She was now over an hour late.

'Oh, God, please let them still be here. Please don't let them be discussing how to fire me.' Clarice thought as she neared Crawford's office.

She swung the office door open a little harder then she meant to, banging it into the wall, causing both Crawford and Krendler. Clarice froze for a moment, paralyzed with embarrassment.

"So nice of you to finally grace us with your presence, Starling." Krendler's greasy voice jolted Clarice back to reality.

"Mr. Crawford, Mr. Krendler. I am so sorry. I fear I slept in this morning. You have my deepest apologies." Clarice gushed, shutting the door and sitting down in the chair beside Krendler.

"It's quite alright, Clarice." Crawford said sternly, cutting Krendler off as he began to say something.

"So, Starling. You think you can handle an assignment?" Krendler sneered, dropping a thick folder of papers onto Clarice's lap.

"What is it?" She asked, thumbing through the papers.

"Series of homicides in Los Angeles. Each victim shot in the left temple, then stabbed 13 times in the heart. All of them were found in their beds, covered in rose petals."

"How many so far?"

"Six."

Clarice looked at the case file thoughtfully. This would get her across the country. It would get her away from Lecter.

"So do you want the case or not?" Krendler asked gruffly, who was now standing and peering down Clarice's blouse.

"Yes." She replied, clutching at the top of her blouse.

"Great." Crawford replied, standing up. Clarice quickly followed suit. "How soon can you leave?"

"Uh..." Clarice paused, "two days?"

"Terrific. I'll get the arrangements made and get the information to you by the end of the day." Crawford said, shaking Clarice's hand.

"Thank...you." Clarice stuttered, following him and Krendler out of the office.


	5. Chapter Five

Crawford walked down the hall, whistling a cheerful tune, and leaving Clarice and Krendler standing alone in the doorway. Clarice started to follow Crawford, but was stopped by Krendler, who grabbed her forearm. Clarice glared at him. He had a peculiar look one his face and was breathing strangely.

"Did you want something, Mr. Krendler?" Clarice said harshly. Krendler stared at her for a few minutes longer, looking oddly like an animal.

"You been looking great lately, Starling." he said roughly, "Bet you'd look even better in bed. What do you say?"

Clarice jerked her arm out of his firm grip.

"You bastard," she gasped, adjusting the files in her arms so she could run away without dropping them. "You fucking bastard." Clarice spun on her heel and walked briskly away from him.

"You'd better watch your back, Starling. It might do you some good to try and impress people in high places instead of insult them." He called out behind her. Clarice turned long enough to flip him off before breaking in a jog, then a run, towards the elevators.

Once inside the quiet of the elevator, Clarice let the tears stream freely down her cheeks. She pressed the emergency stop button, fighting to keep her balance as the elevator jerked to a stop. Leaning against the wall, Clarice slid down and slumped into the fetal position. Sobs racked her body violently. As Clarice lay there, she finally began to understand why someone would take their own life.

No one noticed the elevator doors open fifteen minutes later. No one noticed Clarice Starling scurry out, clutching a stack of folders to her chest, eyes unusually red and puffy.

Clarice hurried past everyone, head downcast so they wouldn't notice the tears in her eyes. She swung a heavy white metal door open and descended the fire escape stairs to the basement. Fumbling for her keys, Clarice cursed as she tried to unlock the door leading to her office. Finally getting it open, Clarice hurried in and slammed the door shut. She leaned against it and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Stepping carefully around the stacks of boxes and papers on the floor, she walked over to her desk. She dropped the stack of folders she was carrying among the others that were already there, and flopped into her chair. She carefully wiped the last of her tears away and took on reassuring breath before flipping the folder open.

Staring at the first sentence on the page, Clarice tried to keep the letters stay in order. Her brain seemed to mixing them all around, making it impossible for her to concentrate. She sighed and slapped her hand down on top of the thick stack of papers.

"Come on, Clarice. Concentrate." She scolded herself. She squinted at the top of the page, managing to de-scramble the first sentence, and then the next. She finally was able to settle into a working mind-frame and finished reading the document.

Clarice closed the folder and rubbed her eyes. She always found it depressing whenever she had to review a murder case. And as she already was feeling pretty low, she couldn't help feeling extra miserable after finishing the reading.

Looking around for something that could possibly lift her spirits, Clarice's wandering eyes landed on the junky stereo she had dragged in to listen to tapes of confessions from witnesses. She smiled slightly, wondering if there could be, for once, a good song on the radio. Switching it on, Clarice turned the dial, going past static and boring talk shows before she finally found a station that would come in down in the basement. It was the end of a commercial and Clarice sat back in her chair, hoping for a song to come on next. The DJ came on, sounding too enthusiastic for this early in the morning. Clarice sneered, waiting for him to announce the next song. He finally did, and there was dead air for a moment. Clarice glanced at the radio, anxious that the batteries in the stereo had died. Suddenly strange chimes filled the room, followed by a hauntingly beautiful voice, capturing Clarice and turning her attention to the lyrics. As the words hit her, Clarice was hit by an odd sense of reality, as if this song was written for her and, oddly enough, someone else:

**_Your lost words whisper slowly to me_**

_**Still can't find what keeps me here**_

**_When all this time I've been so hollow inside_**

_**I know your still there...**_

_**Watching me, wanting me**_

_**I can feel you hold me down**_

_**Fearing you, loving you**_

_**I won't let you hold me down**_

_**Haunting you, I can smell you, alive**_

_**Your heart pounding in my head**_

_**Watching me, wanting me**_

_**I can feel you hold me down**_

_**Seeing me, raping me**_

_**Watching me**_

_**Watching me, wanting me**_

_**I can feel you hold me down**_

_**Fearing you, loving you**_

_**I won't let you pull me down**_

As the song ended, Clarice sat stiffly in her chair. Reaching over slowly to switch the radio off, she could still hear the words of the song echoing in her head. She sighed and leaned forward, setting her elbows on the desk and resting her head on her hands, rubbing her temples slowly. She could already feel a headache coming on, and it was only 10:00 in the morning. Slowly sliding her elbows outward, Clarice rested her head on top of all the papers and folders that covered the small desk. Closing her eyes in an attempt to slow the pounding in her brain, Clarice let her mind wander and soon she was in a deep sleep, dreaming of a man that held her heart as tight as he held her mind.

**XXXXX**

**Author's Note:** The song that Clarice hears on the radio is Evanescence's "Haunted". An excellent song, you should listen to it...


	6. Chapter Six

Clarice groaned and sat up. She looked around confused for a moment, trying to figure out why she was in her office. Gasping, she realized in horror that she had fallen asleep on her desk. Looking at her watch in shock, she realized that she had been asleep for almost 5 hours. It was now nearly 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and she had not done any of the work she had planned. Clarice carefully wiped the drool off her folder, disgustedly scolding herself for being so irresponsible and immature. She couldn't believe she had fallen asleep.

She stood up and walked out of her office, heading upstairs to talk to Crawford about taking her work home early with her. Knocking softly on his office door, Clarice suddenly felt very self-conscious, terribly aware of her mussed hair and wrinkled blouse. Crawford's deep voice bade her enter and she slowly swung the door open. He was sitting at his desk, elbow-deep in paperwork.

"Yes?" He asked, not looking up from what he was writing.

"Um...sir?" Clarice said hesitantly, standing in the doorway. He looked up and smiled warmly.

"Oh, Clarice! Come on in. Was just finishing up the finance report here for your trip. I have it all arranged, all you need to worry about now is solving the damn thing." Crawford handed Clarice a brown folder full of papers. She nodded and looked inside, checking the papers.

"Thank you, sir." Holding the folder against her chest in an attempt to hide the wrinkles in her blouse, Clarice cleared her throat. "Um, sir? Would it be alright if I headed home early today? I would like a chance to review this case a little more intensively before flying out there to solve it."

"Of course! I don't think anyone will miss you here." Crawford regretted the words that he had just spoken, realizing too late how insensitive they sounded. Clarice smiled gratefully, thanked him again, and exited his office, breathing a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her.

**X**

Clarice called in sick to work the next two days. She spent the time at home drinking, trying to numb the confusion that left her head spinning and her faith in doubt. As much as she wanted to get away from the life that surrounded her, she was afraid. She was afraid that if she left, then she would lose all contact with Hannibal. The only person who seemed to give a damn about her these days. The only person who left her with something to live for. Too many times did Clarice pack and unpack her suitcase during those two days. Too many times did Clarice pick up the phone, tempted to call Crawford and tell him to find someone else to take the case. And too many times did Clarice cry herself asleep on the couch, under the blanket that had been left for her.

On the morning of her flight, Crawford called Clarice. The jarring ring of the phone brought Clarice out of a deep sleep and she stumbled towards the phone, grumbling when she stubbed her toe on coffee table.

"'ello?" she answered in a scratchy voice, stifling a yawn.

"Clarice, it's Jack Crawford...I was calling to make sure you are ready to leave."

Clarice cleared her throat, "Yes, sir. I'm ready."

**XXXXXXX**

**Author's Note: **Wow. It has been 6 bloody months since I updated this here fanfic, and I apologize. I have been having serious writer's block on this story and have written and re-written this chapter countless times. I am hoping to get some time to add more this weekend and possibly next week. I will definitely not wait another 6 months! Please review...it makes me feel good...LOL


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